


lost and found

by bleebug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bartender AU, Bisexual!Emma, Childhood Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Genderbend, Modern AU, Smut, fem!Killian, in which Liam encourages his sister to get laid, just not in public, past Millian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9915815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: The decision to take a flight from New York to Boston was impulsive. But now that Emma is here, pacing in front of the workplace of the first girl she ever loved, she finds herself overwhelmed with a flood of distant memories – of almost-kisses and could-have-beens. Now all she needs to do is step through the door and find out if there's a way to rekindle an old flame. (Fem!Killian)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [to-love-a-swan (Jessica)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=to-love-a-swan+%28Jessica%29).



> Gift fic for @to-love-a-swan on Tumblr for the 500 Follower Giveaway, who wished for some Fem!Killian smut. (As it turns out, I like the build-up, too.)
> 
> This was supposed to be like... 5k. But OBVIOUSLY that didn't work out. Whoops?

Emma’s hands were clenched into tight fists in her coat pockets as she paced back and forth in the cold, her nerves unable to settle long enough for her to stand still, let alone to turn and enter the bar she was standing next to on the snow-covered sidewalk.

She was so nervous, more so than she’d been since… since…

Well, since her sophomore year of high school, sitting on the porch steps of the foster home she had shared with _her_ for all too brief a time, staring into her too-blue and dangerously piercing eyes, hands trembling in her lap, lungs burning from holding her breath for too long, lips _oh so close_ to being kissed, and heart hammering wildly against her ribcage. 

They hadn’t made it to kissing. Just the lightest puff of breath brushing over each other’s parted mouths before the front door behind them slammed open and they jerked away from one another just in time for their highly prejudiced and openly hateful foster father to verbally lash out at them for their _unclean_ and _sinful_ behavior. 

Neither of them had even been given a chance to say goodbye before they were ripped from each other and taken far, far away; states away, as it turned out, though Emma wouldn’t know that for years to come.

She had been sixteen then. Sixteen when she discovered that she had the capacity to be painfully attracted to and possibly even in love with another girl.

Sixteen when she realized that it was something to hide, to be ashamed of.

It had taken her eight long years to learn to fully accept that part of herself and to be open about who she was and actually take pride in it. It wasn’t easy, though she supposed, in a way, she was almost grateful that she didn’t have a family to come out to. In an even deeper and more achingly bitter way, she was disappointed to not have parents who would promise to love and support her regardless of who she loved.

She found comfort in the only places she felt safe when she was ready for it: forums and blogs and online support groups. Later, when she knew she had too many things to say and not enough of an outlet to say it, she started her own blog. Her intention had merely been to share her experiences and find a decent community to become a part of, but to her utter surprise, many young women and even men found her posts to be inspiring, and she unintentionally began to answer questions with advice – advice that she often worried was unhelpful at the very least, and damaging at the worst. But to her great relief, it was well received and actually usually led to follow-ups claiming how much her words had helped and encouraged them. 

The more she answered, the higher her follower count went. 

Four years and nearly a hundred thousand followers later, it happened:

 

_“Hello, Swan. You may not remember me, but we knew each other in high school. I came across your blog by accident about a month ago and I admit I’ve just been quietly stalking your page this whole time… Sorry for that. Your posts are really just amazing. I’m so incredibly happy that after all these years you’ve come out of your shell, so to speak. (Pun entirely intended.) Back then I was really struggling with a lot. We moved to the states, my mother passed, then my father left, then my older brother and I got split up in the system, all within the span of two years. And, yeah, to top it all off I was realizing about that time that I was very, extremely gay. And I know for a fact that you weren’t so well off yourself. It’s kind of what drew me to you, I think. Kindred spirits and all that. When our idiot of a foster father sent us both away, I was a mess. I sobbed for days and as far as I can remember I spent months just pining after the memory of you. I didn’t have any way to contact you but I did try. Anyway, that’s not the point. I just wanted to let you know that it would mean a lot if we could talk a bit. I’d love to get to know the woman you’ve become, Emma._

_-Killian Jones”_

Killian _freaking_ Jones. 

The same Killian Jones that befriended her on her first day in the home by sneaking her a candy bar after dinner when they all knew that junk food was strictly forbidden in their household. The one that walked with her to school every morning, even when she was dragging her tired feet, causing them both to be late to their first class. The one that liked to swing her arm around Emma’s shoulders when they were amongst Killian’s friends just to make her feel included. The one that would brush her fingers through Emma’s hair while they sat on one of their beds and spent hours talking through the night about everything and nothing. The one she had a heart-stopping almost-kiss with five months into their friendship.

The one that she wished she had asked to run away with before they were torn apart for what Emma assumed would be forever. 

She had drafted probably a hundred different replies before finally sending it. She kept it brief, just mentioning that she _did_ , in fact, remember her, and that she would be more than happy to rekindle their friendship. (“Friendship,” she wrote, as if the very thought of speaking once more with her first love didn’t make her chest ache.)

They messaged back and forth for weeks and Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so childishly giddy about anything. The online messages became texts when Killian asked for her number, and those were even more incredible. Distracting, too. Her freelance work writing articles for a few online journals suffered a bit over the past few months since she couldn’t seem to find the will to put down her phone. She didn’t really regret the paycut one bit.

There were so many things to learn about Killian Jones. She was a high school graduate but college dropout. She and her brother Liam had reconnected not long after he’d finally become free of the chains of the foster system. Killian had spoken so much of him when they were in the same home, tried to convince an honestly skeptical Emma that when Liam came of age, he’d find her and they’d take care of each other. Being only a year apart, Liam had aged out about half a year after Emma and Killian had known each other, and he had, indeed, found Killian again. They also belatedly discovered that they had a much younger half-brother living in California who had also been orphaned by their father – his name was Liam as well, because Brennan Jones had been a Grade A dickhead. Luckily, the younger Liam had actually been adopted before Killian and the elder Liam found him, and was in a much better home environment than they could have hoped for; still, Killian said they kept in touch and went out to visit a couple times a year.

When she was barely twenty, she’d lost her hand and her girlfriend in a car accident that pretty much tore her life to pieces. She recovered from the physical wounds long before her heart had scarred over, and it was mostly thanks to her family and throwing herself into work at the cheap, run-down bar that Liam encouraged them to buy and renovate with loan money.

So now she was living in Boston, in a studio apartment just upstairs from The Captain’s Pub, the rather successful bar she and Liam now jointly owned, debt-free. Liam lived not ten feet away in his own adjoining apartment. Emma was ecstatic that the two of them remained close all these years later.

But probably the thing that captured Emma’s attention the most was that Killian was single. Available. Free. Unattached.

It didn’t matter how many times she had scolded herself for focusing on that one solitary fact amongst the slew of important information that Killian had shared of herself. The truth was, after months of texting back and forth, Emma found that even though time – so much time – had passed since high school, the pull between them remained the same.

Which was why, against her better judgment, Emma impulsively bought an expensive airplane ticket from New York to Boston in the middle of January for the sole purpose of seeing Killian.

Without telling her.

And now she was freezing her ass off and sweating inside her layers of clothing all at once. Butterflies didn’t even begin to cover the fluttering, churning feeling in her gut. More like someone had lit off a handful of firecrackers in her stomach. The anxiety wasn’t unexpected, but no less painful for all that she tried to prepare herself for it. 

But she could do this. 

She’d come all this way; it would be pretty fucking cowardly to turn back now, when she was literally standing right outside Killian’s place of work.

“Just… walk in,” she muttered to herself. “Open the door and walk in and go say hello.” 

Her eyes fell shut and she took a deep breath, which honestly did little to curb her anxiety, and pulled her brows together tightly as she worked up the courage to finally push the door open.

The solid whoosh of warm air made her shudder in relief, but she stayed on full alert as her gaze darted over the interior of The Captain’s Pub. The lighting was dim and pleasant and there were patrons scattered about the tables and at the bar. Nautical-themed objects lined the shelves on the wall and hung from the ceiling – a small wooden rowboat, a rusty anchor, a vintage ship wheel, shells of all shapes and sizes, a large painting of waves crashing against a cliff with a lighthouse overlooking the chaos.

On the far wall there was a gigantic fireplace that was lit, and the flames danced about, casting warm shadows across the walls and ceiling. The smell of wood smoke was comforting and entirely appropriate, Emma thought, for the atmosphere they were clearly going for. It was like a cozy little cabin by the sea.

And then she saw her.

“Shit.”

The small word came out involuntarily as a whimpering breath when Emma’s eyes landed on Killian Jones. Twelve years ago, Emma remembered Killian keeping her long hair in a low ponytail, the slight overuse of eyeliner on her lower waterline on an everyday basis, the oversized t-shirts and hoodies overwhelming her lanky form, and the lingering roundness of her cheeks from before puberty had hit. She had been beautiful in her youth, though still very much a developing teenage girl just making her way out of the awkward phase.

But now she was a goddamn bombshell.

Her dark hair reached just past her shoulders in a charmingly modern blunt cut, with beach waves framing her face. She wore more makeup than she used to, sharp wings of black eyeliner, thick mascara, and deep red lipstick that looked entirely too good on those full lips that Emma had been reminiscing about for the past several months. Her cheeks were less rounded now and her jaw sharper. Her brows, though now cleanly sculpted arches, were just as expressive as she remembered. 

And her _body_. God, Emma didn’t want to be a creep but Killian had really filled out in the best possible way, the thick curves of her hips in those skin-tight black jeans and the generous amount of cleavage on display between a not-completely-buttoned midnight blue plaid flannel shirt making her heart stutter and, admittedly, her mouth water a bit.

 Killian rolled her shoulders and ran her fingers through her hair, her gaze shifting behind the patrons at the bar, and Emma immediately ducked her head and pulled her jacket hood down further to cover her face before she could get the chance to recognize her. Then she wandered over to a small, empty table in the corner close to the fireplace, the perfect location to get a view of the bar without Killian noticing.

She buried her face in her gloved hands as she sat down, berating herself for not just going up and doing what she had come here to do. But _fuck_ , she just was so beautiful and perfect and all those memories came rushing to the surface and she just _couldn’t fucking move_.

 

 

_“Here, Emma,” the brunette girl with the pointy ears whispered, grabbing Emma’s hand in the dark of their shared room and passing something crinkly and plastic to her. “Make sure you hide the trash in your bag. If George sees the wrapper, he’ll bust a vein.”_

_Emma stared down at the Apollo chocolate bar in her hand and then glanced up with a raised brow. She could barely make out her features with only the light from the hallway pouring in through the sliver of space beneath their bedroom door, but she could definitely see the dimples pressing into the girl’s cheeks._

_“We’re not allowed,” Emma said, wondering if she wasn’t trying to get her into trouble._

_“I know. That’s why I said to hide the evidence,” she chuckled quietly. “We have plain tasteless oatmeal and one egg for breakfast, a packed lunch consisting of an apple and a sandwich, and dinner is usually chicken or fish with a side of steamed vegetables, all unseasoned. Every. Damn. Day. Believe me when I say, you’ll need this.”_

_She knew George was going to be a strict foster parent, but_ Christ _. At least she had the benefit of knowing they’d be fed at all, though._

_“Uh, thanks…”_

_“No problem, love. I’ll give you the rundown of how to survive this place tomorrow at lunch, aye?”_

_“Okay,” she murmured, a little thrown off at not only the urgent secrecy that seemed to imply that this foster home was going to be an utter hellhole, but also at the way this girl was treating her with… kindness. Well, it seemed like kindness, anyway. She didn’t exactly have a lot to compare it to. “Uh, I didn’t get your name.”_

_“It’s Killian. Killian Jones.”_

_“Isn’t Killian a boy’s name?”_

_“Typically. My parents named me before I was born, thought I was going to be a boy. I suppose they just didn’t change their minds when I turned out to be a girl instead. But I don’t know, I don’t hate it. Sounds rather pretty, don’t you think?”_

_“Yeah,” Emma said, gaze glossing over what she could see of Killian’s face. “Pretty.”_

_\--_

_“I hate math,” Emma grumbled, her forehead falling onto the lunch table. “It doesn't matter how many times Ms. Boyd goes over it, I just don’t get it. I’m gonna fail.”_

_Killian rubbed circles on her back between her shoulder blades and she relaxed minimally at the contact._

_“You won’t fail, Swan. You’re only struggling because she’s a hard teacher to understand. If you don’t learn things_ her _way, she doesn’t help you find a working alternative. Why don’t you let me tutor you?”_

_She rolled her head to the side and peered up at Killian, who was sporting a teasing grin. It tugged at something in her gut, but she tried to ignore it._

_“Seriously?”_

_“Of course. Maths is my best subject, behind English of course.”_

_“English. Now_ that _class makes sense to me. Why do I need math? I’ll just write for a living. Won’t ever need to look at numbers.”_

_Killian laughed at that and took a swig of the can of Dr. Pepper they were sharing – they’d each contributed 50 cents to get it from the vending machine. Emma’s eyes followed the lush purse of her lips around the aluminum rim, her throat constricting for some reason. It only got worse when she pulled the can away and licked the flavor from her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue._

_“You’ll have to keep track of finances, though, love, and pay taxes, and calculate how much you can afford on living arrangements and utilities every month, and your budget for grocery shopping and-“_

_“Ugh, I get it! Please, Killian, tutor me,” she groaned, bottom lip jutting out in a childish pout. Killian smirked and passed the soda can into her hand._

_“I’d be glad to.”_

_\--_

_She sighed as Killian’s fingers deftly ran through her hair and massaged her scalp. It was hard to focus on anything else, but she supposed that was probably okay since it was winter break and there was nothing she needed to do; no homework, no studying, nothing. Her whole body felt boneless as she sunk further into Killian’s touch._

_“How’s the headache?”_

_“Mm?” she hummed, eyelashes fluttering as she tried to stay awake. It took her a few moments to come back to herself and her back straightened a bit. “Oh. Yeah. It’s better, I think.”_

_Killian’s low, breathy chuckle made Emma’s cheeks warm, and she bit at her lip nervously to stop the flush from spreading. Killian’s hands did not cease in their movements, though, and it was so easy to relax back into the rhythm of her fingertips rolling over base of her skull, working their way up and around, loosening the muscles that had become so tense and achy from sleeping at an awkward angle the night before._

_“Good, good,” Killian murmured, so softly that Emma wondered if she wasn’t just speaking to herself._

_She knew that this kind of thing happened a lot between friends. She’d seen the girls at school doing similar things – playing with each other’s hair, holding hands, hugging and cuddling up together. It was normal. Friendly. Platonic._

_So why the hell did it make her heart race?_

_And was it all in her head or, before pulling away, did Killian’s fingertips linger on the skin of her neck just a little too long, a little too tenderly?_

 

_\--_

 

_“You’re my favorite person, Emma Swan. You know that?”_

_Emma smiled bashfully as Killian’s knee knocked sideways against her own, the space between them practically nonexistent as they huddled together on the porch in an attempt to watch fireworks in the distance for some town fair that neither of them were allowed to attend thanks to their foster father’s rules._

_“You just say that cause I help you smuggle in junk food,” she teased. Their laughter mingled together, and Killian’s forehead briefly dropped against Emma’s shoulder before she pulled away again with that all too familiar grin, one brow raised a bit higher than the other. Emma always felt comfortable with her; safe, even, which was something she was still getting used to. “You… you’re my favorite person, too, Killian.”_

_Her smile softened, but then the pops and sizzles and crackles of the fireworks began, drawing their attention. But Emma found she couldn’t keep her eyes up._

_There was something almost magical about seeing the dim, colorful lights from the distant celebration dance across Killian’s features, the reflections coloring her skin from pink to purple to green all within the span of a few short moments. Somehow the color of her eyes remained steadily blue, only changing in shades – the color of the sky on a clear day one second, the deep indigo of the sea at night the next, shimmering sapphire the next. Or maybe that was just her imagination._

_She realized then that neither one of them were actually paying attention to the firework display at all. They were looking at each other, leaning towards one another, like some force of nature was drawing them closer._

_Her lips. Oh, she wanted to kiss her lips so badly._

_And Killian, well… Emma was almost entirely sure, for the first time, that she wanted the exact same thing._

_So close. Her breath was warm. Her nose just barely bumped against her own and Emma’s fingers curled tightly around the hem of her sweater in her lap._

_SLAM._

_It was like someone had knocked the breath straight out of her lungs when the sound of metal banging against wood startled them away from each other._

_George was furious. He’d been watching from the front window, he said. Saw them getting too intimate for friends, he said. Needed to punish them for engaging in sinful, indecent behavior, he said._

_She didn’t even get a chance to see Killian again between George locking them in separate rooms and then sending them away for what he claimed were ‘behavioral issues.’_

_She cried the whole car ride over to the group home in Phoenix._

 

 

“What’ll it be?" 

Emma nearly fell out of her seat when the voice jolted her from her little trip down Memory Lane, pulling her hands from her face to look up at the man who’d spoken. He was wearing casual clothing but had a nametag pinned to the pocket of his shirt – Robin. (Robin, of course, Killian’s best friend and one of the employees here. Killian had spoken of him a few times.) He looked a bit chagrinned.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, lass. You do look like you could use a drink though.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, rum. Neat, please.”

“You don’t want anything to eat? We’ve got burgers, sandwiches, fish and chips…”

Her stomach was already in knots. No need to punish herself by possibly making herself sick. 

“Just the drink, thanks.”

She bowed her head again and stared at a small scratch in the wood of the table until he returned. Luckily for her, he didn’t say anything when he placed the glass next to her twitching fingers, and went back around the floor.

Emma’s hands cradled the glass as she let herself glance back up to the bar where Killian was pouring drinks. She could see pretty clearly now that her prosthetic had some kind of lock mechanism that allowed her to adjust its position to hold objects. It didn’t at all hinder her mixing skills, though Emma supposed that she _had_ been doing it for close to eight years now.

There were some tattoos on her forearms visible where she had pushed her sleeves up to her elbows; a compass and an antique sextant on the left above her brace, a faded map as the backdrop, and a realistic bleeding heart on the right. There was a banner over top and Emma couldn’t read it from this far. She imagined it was probably the name of her ex-girlfriend, the one who’d passed.

She wondered if there were more tattoos hidden beneath the layers of her clothing.

Those kinds of thoughts spun around in her head even though she knew she’d never know the answer if she didn’t just get up and _go talk to her_.

Instead, she just sat and stared, watching Killian and the man who was undoubtedly her older brother, Liam, elbowing and flicking water at each other when they passed one another behind the bar. She moved around the space easily, like it was second nature to her, and it made Emma proud in a way.

Her rum was gone, the pleasant burn of it settling in her stomach, before she decided to pull out her phone, yanking her gloves off so she could use the touch screen.

 ** _Hey_** , she wrote. Just that. It was maybe a little pathetic on her part.

She looked up, pulling her phone down just beneath her line of vision and watched, nervously if she were honest, as Killian paused and reached into her back pocket to snag her phone, pulling it up to her face and just _smiling_. Like that one, stupid little one-word text had just made her goddamn day.

Killian leaned over the edge of the bar towards the end, where the last three seats were empty, pulling a bit of her full, red bottom lip between her teeth as she texted back.

**_Hello, love. :)_ **

**_Busy?_ **

**_Nope. Bar’s rather dead tonight_.**

Emma tried not to laugh out loud, because she was _there_ and while it wasn’t exactly bustling like it might have been on a Saturday night, it was most definitely not dead. There were patrons scattered all throughout the place, and at least two at the moment trying to get Killian’s attention for a refill while the woman in question dutifully ignored them in favor of staring at her phone.

Emma would be lying through her teeth if she said it didn’t make her feel like a big, dopey puddle of goo.

**_Why, love? Bored?_ ** ****

**_Yeah. I was just thinking about the past._** She reeled in the thought of fireworks and almost-kisses and recalled a less emotional memory to pick on before she texted Killian again. **_Remember when we started stealing packets of salt from school so we could make our meals actually taste like something?_**

Killian laughed. She actually, really laughed. It wasn’t loud or anything, but it was enough that Emma could hear. Her stomach rolled.

**_Oh my god, he was livid when he found out. I thought the old bastard was going to drop dead from the rush of blood to his head!_ **

Emma grinned, recalling the scene vividly. It was not pleasant or even funny at the time, but looking back there was no way she _couldn’t_ find the humor in her dirtbag foster father having a conniption over _flavor_ , for heaven’s sake.

**_There was that one vein on his forehead that always stuck out when he got mad._ **

**_Yes! That bloody vein! Sometimes I just wanted to touch it and see what he’d do._ **

Emma sighed, trying to relax her face; her cheeks hurt from smiling. She watched Killian reluctantly attend to one of the customers before rushing back over to her free spot to pull her phone back out.

Killian was… excited. Actually excited just to get a few texts from her. Would she… perhaps be just as happy to see her in person?

Was Emma overthinking everything? 

**_What are you up to today? Still working on that article on LGBTQ university programs?_ **

**_How do you remember stuff like that? I finished it yesterday but haven’t sent it in yet. Still gotta proofread._ ** ****

**_Why wouldn’t I remember what you get up to? I’ll have you know that I adore your writing._ **

**_Flatterer._ **

**_Just telling the truth, my dear._ **

Emma loved it when Killian used those little terms of endearments. _Love_ and _dear_ and _sweetheart_.

But she wanted to hear them fall from her lips again, like she used to. She wanted the words to wrap around her like a safety blanket.

Shit. She needed to get up. She tossed her hood off her head, brushing her fingers through her hair to relieve some of the static, and picked her phone back up. 

 ** _I have something to ask you_ , **she texted, swallowing the lump in her throat and willing her legs to stop trembling long enough to stand.

 ** _What is it?_**  

Her damn, stupid, stubborn legs. She took a few deep breaths, counting to ten, counting back, feeling like a complete ass just standing in the middle of the room while her feet remained glued to their spot on the floor. Her phone buzzed again and she looked down at it.

 ** _Love?_** That text was followed by another text thirty seconds later. **_Still there?_**

Her toes curled and she took one hesitant step forward before her resolve solidified, then making quick, long strides between the tables and chairs and directly to the bar in front of Killian.

She was a thousand times more beautiful up close, even with that little furrow between her brows as her gaze remained trained upon her phone. 

“Can I get a drink?” 

Emma felt like the simple question deserved a fucking standing ovation. Her voice came out even and steady despite her nerves.

“One moment,” Killian muttered, almost absentmindedly it seemed, without gracing her even a glance, too focused on the object in her hand. 

Emma’s phone buzzed and she pulled it up.

 ** _Whatever it is, you can ask me._**  

The corners of her lips turned upward and she dragged her phone directly in front of her face, half to hide herself, half to stop from staring at the jut of Killian’s collarbone.

 ** _I already asked,_** she replied, lips pressing together to stop her smile from spreading too much.

**_What? No you didn’t._ **

**_Killian, it’s really unprofessional to have your phone out at work and ignore customers who are asking for a drink_.**

Her forehead crinkled adorably before she turned and finally – fucking _finally_ – looked directly into Emma’s eyes. The confusion in her eyes was lost to immediate shock and awe, her jaw going slack and the air audibly leaving her lungs.

“Emma?” she breathed, not even a whisper, before her phone clattered to the bar top.

Emma slowly let her phone fall away from her face, licking her lips and then smiling uneasily. She was eternally grateful for the drink she’d had before.

“Surprise?”

It was nerve-wracking, watching Killian’s gaze dart across every last inch of her face. She felt raw and exposed; fearful, still, but hopeful, too. Killian seemed unable to form words – a rare occurrence, as Emma remembered that she always had something witty and clever poised on the tip of her tongue, ready to articulate with a raised brow and a smirk at any moment.

But now she seemed at a complete and utter loss.

“Killian, please say something.”

“You… are _here_ ,” she managed, swaying a little as she stood upright. Emma nodded, unsure what to do now.

“Yeah. Is that… I mean, is that okay?” 

“Is it o-…” Killian shook her head and huffed an incredulous laugh. “Bloody hell, love.”

The words came out right before Killian shuffled away and there was just the briefest moment of doubt on Emma’s part before she realized that Killian was moving out from behind the bar and almost running over to her.

Emma felt her heart jump into her throat as Killian’s arms came around her waist, and she shuddered – holding back what might have been a sob – as she returned the embrace, arms winding around her neck. The force of it made Emma have to take a step back but there was no possible way she could complain.

Five months together, twelve years apart, and yet somehow, someway, it felt like a warm, long overdue homecoming. 

Killian’s face was pressed against her neck and Emma could _feel_ her smile. She tightened her hold on her and tentatively ran her fingers through the flowing dark locks around her shoulders. Emma couldn’t exactly place the scent of Killian’s perfume, but she smelled _amazing_ and it took all of her self-control not to bury her face in her hair and inhale.

Soon, though, Killian was pulling away, her hand and prosthetic both moving to press against her arms. Those dimples that Emma always adored were pressed deep into her cheeks as she looked her over, looking like she was seeing something magical for the first time.

“Gods, Emma… You look, just, _stunning_.”

Emma felt her whole face grow warm and could only hope that she wasn’t as red as that tempting shade of lipstick on Killian.

“And you look…” Emma paused, trying to think of a way to accurately describe her. Breathtaking? Bewitching? Drop-dead gorgeous?

“I know,” Killian cheekily replied before Emma could find the right word. She huffed a laugh in response, her natural reflex to the woman’s sass being a roll of her eyes.

She was pulled into another hug, a little less forceful but just as wonderful and welcome, and she couldn’t help but smile into Killian’s shoulder.

“It’s _so_ good to see you again, love.” 

“Yeah. The feeling’s mutual.”

Not exactly the subtlest choice of words, she knew, but god, she didn’t care. Chatting for hours on end through text was enough to make her crave Killian’s companionship and affection, but seeing her now, holding her, feeling the dips and curves of her warm body against hers, she had to muster every bit of strength not kiss her right there, consequences be damned.

But before she could carry out that ill-advised plan, they were both startled apart by the distinct sound of a man’s throat clearing. Emma’s arms dropped as she turned toward the bar where Killian was now looking.

Liam Jones was wearing an amused grin, leaning forward with his forearms on the bar, eyes the same blue as Killian’s alit with intrigue. Emma swiveled her head and watched as Killian brushed her hair behind her ear, her fingertips lingering at her hairline to give it a tiny, almost nervous scratch.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us, little sister?” 

“Kindly bugger off, you big oaf,” she shot back, but the slight pink of her cheeks gave away her embarrassment. Emma ducked her head and tried not to smile at it; honestly, it made her feel way too much like a teenager with a crush again.

“That’s no way to speak to your kind older brother, Killian.” Emma puffed a small laugh when Killian frowned at him. Her brother reached a hand out past the bar towards Emma and she took it graciously. “Liam Jones. And you must be Emma Swan, if I’m not mistaken.”

So Killian had told Liam about her? Interesting. She tried not to smile too hard, lest she give away her real feelings on that.

“Right. It’s really great to meet you, finally.”

“And you,” he chuckled, drawing his hand away and giving Killian a teasing side-glance before returning his gaze to her. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” 

“Well, we have been talking a lot lately, so…” 

“Oh, I wasn’t just talking about recently, lass.”

Before she could reply with something along the lines of, ‘ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ’ Killian quickly interjected.

“A drink!” she said, clapping her hand on Emma’s shoulder. The smile she wore looked a bit strained, anxious almost, but she didn’t comment on it. “I believe you asked me for a drink, love. Got a bit distracted. Old friend showed up and threw me off a bit.”

Emma laughed softly at that and she noticed Liam rolling his eyes and walking back down to his side of the bar. Killian gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before she went back behind the bar herself, leaning forward on her elbows as Emma sat in the stool at the very end. 

“So, what can I get for the lovely Emma Swan?”

“Surprise me,” Emma said, shimmying out of her coat and unwrapping her scarf and then laying them across the empty seat next to her. She was glad for her wardrobe choice of a very well-fitted forest green sweater with a dipping neckline when she noticed Killian’s heavy gaze sweeping over her form. She tried not to get overly excited about it. “Something to warm me up, maybe?”

Killian blinked a few times, her eyes returning to Emma’s face, before her request seemed to register and she took a step back from the bar.

“Ah. You know, I think I’ve got just the thing. Wait here.”

Killian turned to give her a brief wink before she pushed through the kitchen door and disappeared. Emma wrung her hands together for the next couple of minutes, every once in a while brushing her hair back or adjusting her sweater sleeves, constantly worrying about making herself as appealing as possible.

God, she was so screwed.

When Killian came back, she had a mug in hand and she set it down on the bar with gleaming eyes before grabbing a couple of bottles from behind the bar.

Emma sniffed the air, grinning as the scent of her favorite winter drink wafted over her.

“Hot chocolate?”

“Aye, _with_ -“ Without measuring, she poured in a little dark rum and some cinnamon schnapps, followed by two cinnamon sticks and a fresh orange twist. “-a little kick.”

Killian pushed the mug forward with her prosthetic and Emma grabbed the handle, taking a very pleasant whiff of the spicy, sweet aroma before taking a sip. 

 _Heaven_.

Killian chuckled and Emma opened her eyes, not even realizing she’d closed them, to see the absolute look of pride and satisfaction reflected in that too-familiar smirk, quirked eyebrow and all. She may have grown up and filled out, but she was still the same girl she knew half a lifetime ago. Her mannerisms and even her voice still belonged to that gangly teen with the pointy ears and the wide, teasing smile.

“I take it you approve?” Emma was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t understand the question, a crease forming between her brows and her head tilting just the slightest. “Of the drink,” she clarified.

“Oh. Yes. It’s delicious. Perfect.” Killian’s smile softened and she leaned forward on the bar again. Emma did her best not to glance down at the woman’s ample cleavage. “How did you even remember my favorite drink?”

Killian shrugged nonchalantly, the action contradictory with her next words. “You left a rather deep impression on me, love.”

She smiled behind the rim of her mug and then took another sip, blushing when she noticed Killian’s eyes following the motion. She needed to change the subject before she internally combusted. 

“So, what’s with all… this?” Emma asked, gesturing to the décor of the bar. She nodded toward Killian’s left arm with the similarly themed tattoos above her brace. “And those. I know you used to say how much you loved the ocean, but I never knew it was to this degree.”

“Ah…” Killian brushed her hand through her hair and settled her fist on the back of her neck, bunching her wavy strands together and giving Emma a self-conscious, uncomfortable sort of smile. Emma wished she could take back the question, as harmless as she thought it was. “Well that’s a bit of a story, love.”

Emma nodded once, assuming that particular direction of conversation was over, and took another sip of her boozy hot chocolate.

“I mean… it’s not- it isn’t a bad story, just…” Killian’s brows furrowed as she tried to find the right words. Emma opened her mouth to assure her that she didn’t mean to pry, but Killian’s words beat her to it. “It’s got a bit to do with Milah.”

A glance down at the heart tattoo on her right forearm told her that Milah was the name of her ex-girlfriend.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I just… I didn’t know if that’s something you’d want to hear about, is all.”

It took her a moment to realize _why_ Killian might think she wouldn’t want to hear about it. Her expression held a modicum of guilt, and it was clear that she was worried that speaking of someone she loved might make Emma… what? Uneasy? Jealous, maybe? How ridiculous. Is that why she had only ever mentioned her ex-girlfriend the one time? To explain the accident that took her hand? 

But it was certainly a boost to her confidence in thinking that whatever it was between them wasn’t just one-sided, at least. 

She let the mug sit on the bar and reached out both hands, clasping Killian’s hand and her prosthetic. The plastic and metal was cold to the touch, but she treated it no differently than if it were her own flesh, her thumb brushing over the artificial knuckles as she glanced up and into her eyes. Killian appeared touched by the action, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“I’d like to hear, if that’s okay.”

A man a few seats away called for her attention, but Killian ignored him and stayed right where she was. She saw Liam attend to him from her periphery and squeezed Killian’s fingers just a little tighter. 

“I met Milah my first week of college,” she began, licking her lips and pursing them for a moment before continuing. She didn’t look into Emma’s eyes, instead staring down at their joined hands with an almost wistful expression. “She was a senior, in her last semester, and she was so excited for it all to be over. She wanted to travel and explore, go on adventures. That’s the kind of woman she was. An adventurer. 

“I think it was barely a month after we met that we started dating. By the time the semester was over and she was graduating, I was so goddamn head over heels for her that I just dropped out without even once worrying about my future. All I wanted was to be with her… To, um… not let her be another case of _the one that got away_ …” Killian gently squeezed her hand but didn’t meet her gaze, and Emma burned at the understanding that she was referring to her. She shrugged and went on. “Then, we, uh, sort of commandeered a boat?”

Emma whipped her head up, her cheeks puffing as she scoffed a laugh.

“You _stole_ a boat? So you’re a pirate, are you?” 

“It made perfect sense at the time,” Killian argued, but she was laughing too. “It was decently sized but could be manned by two people with little trouble, and it had just been sitting in the dock for over a year. Or at least that’s what Milah told me when we steered out into the harbor. She grew up around boats and she knew what she was doing. I was a little less experienced, but she was patient as she taught me. We sailed down the coast to Florida then went all over. The Bahamas, Brazil, Morocco, Spain, Italy, Egypt, Iceland… By the time we made it stateside again, we’d spent over eighteen months traveling. Liam was none-too-pleased about it, since we ditched cell phones and just called when we could get to a payphone. But he dealt with it. Managed to get his business degree completed without me there to distract him.

“But, anyway,” she continued, sighing as she leaned back, pulling away from Emma’s touch. She snagged a shot glass and filled it with 151, but she didn’t drink it. It sat on the bar top and Killian stared at it. “I’ve always wondered why… _how_ … we could travel all over the place, spend weeks, months even, at sea… stay in seedy motels and hostels… brave storms, court danger for so long just for a taste of adventure, and nothing bad ever happened… and then when we finally decide to come home to Boston, we leave the airport and our cab gets hit by a truck. And it’s all over in an instant.”

She tossed the shot back and gently placed the empty glass back on the bar, sliding it to the side and leaning forward again, this time her eyes up and open. The mask of calm she wore was damn good; if Emma hadn’t just heard the slight waver in her voice, Killian’s resigned smile would have been enough to convince her that she was wasn’t affected.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say. Killian shook her head and reached out to Emma’s hand again, though this time it was simply to lightly skim her fingertips across her skin.

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I’m… well, I can’t say I’m over it, but it’s not as painful as it once was.” She glanced up and around, to the rowboat hanging on one end of the pub and the painting on the other, then down to her forearm. “I got most of the tattoos overseas. After Milah passed, I tried to avoid the water because it reminded me so much of her. But the truth of it is that the ocean is a part of me, both literally and figuratively. Can’t exactly escape something I’ve had permanently etched into my skin. I realized eventually I didn’t want to anyway. And, well, when Liam bought this piece of junk bar to renovate, I couldn’t really help myself.”

“And your boat?” 

“Docked. But never for longer than a few weeks at a time. I take the old girl out whenever I can.” She grinned, the dimples pressing into her cheeks. This time, the smile wasn’t a façade; it was real. “Liam, meddling arse that he is, found the original owner and paid for it two-fold like a good, upstanding citizen, so it’s now legally mine.”

“So much for the pirate’s life,” Emma said, smiling when the little comment made Killian laugh.

“Aye, well…” She leaned forward, her face inching just a little closer to hers. Emma didn’t miss the millisecond glance she spared toward her lips, and she licked them unconsciously as Killian’s voice grew a touch lower, both in volume and pitch. “Perhaps I don’t steal vessels anymore, or force any of my disloyal workers to walk the plank, but I may know a thing or two about pillaging and plundering.”

Emma would have keeled over merely from the implication – or at the way Killian smirked just a little bit too knowingly – if it weren’t for the fact that her innuendo was a cheesy pirate pun. Instead, she couldn’t help but laugh, giggle really, like any stupidly love-struck girl would do around their crush.

Killian didn’t seem to mind the reaction, eyeing her fondly with a grin plastered on her face. But after recovering, Emma’s skin was flushed with heat and her heart was hammering, because Killian Jones had just blatantly flirted with her. And _god_ did she love it.

She grabbed her mug and finished off the last of her drink, two decent-sized gulps that made her almost cringe from the mix of alcohol and spice, then slowly placed it back down. Killian just watched, her hand now cradling her chin as her elbow rested upon the bar. Emma swallowed thickly.

“Do you have more?” she asked, breathless as if she had just laughed all the air from her body.

Killian raised a brow, frowning slightly in confusion. “More what?”

“Tattoos.” 

Her reply wasn’t verbal, but Emma noted every minute detail of her bodily response. First, the slightly widened eyes, the brief fluttering of her eyelashes, the comically audible _gulp_ , the tensing and stillness of her posture. Then there was the deflating of her chest that came with an exhale, the muscles of her jaw ticking and her pupils – wholly focused on Emma’s eyes – dilating as she swayed forward. 

“Aye,” she whispered hoarsely. “I do.”

 _Fuck_ , Emma thought. Or maybe it was more like, _Fuck me_.

“Killian, bloody hell, just _go_ already.”

They both jerked at the sharp sound of Liam shouting from a few feet away. Emma dipped her head immediately, flustered and embarrassed to be caught drooling over his sister while she was – oh god, she was at _work_. 

“I… what?” Killian squeaked, her voice far higher than it had been a moment prior.

Liam sighed heavily, scooping some ice into a highball glass and rolling his eyes as he did so.

“If you’re just planning on ignoring the customers and doing nothing but making heart eyes at Miss Swan, as if half the men in here aren’t staring at you two and hoping for a little evening entertainment with their drink, you may as well take the rest of the night off.”

Killian turned a lovely shade of pink all the way down her neck and Emma appreciated the coloring for few seconds before she turned her head and caught the eyes of several men who quickly averted their gazes.

Well, go figure; she wasn’t even about to deny that the sexual tension was palpable. Of course all the guys would be watching. Emma cleared her throat as subtly as possible and reached for her wallet.

“Uh, I can pay now if-“

“It’s just one drink, love. On the house,” Killian quickly interjected, her hand reaching out to close the faded brown leather wallet. Emma tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

“Um… it’s two drinks, actually.” Killian stood a little straighter and the question didn’t even need to be asked. “I sort of… needed some liquid courage first?”

Killian’s answering smile held an obnoxious amount of pride, even if she did try to purse her lips to cover it. The glimmer in her eyes didn’t hide a damn thing.

“You were nervous to come over?” 

“Shut up.”

Killian just shook her head incredulously and huffed a pleased little laugh, then turned her attention to Liam. 

“You sure you’re fine without me? I know we’re a bit understaffed since Belle and Will are both out…” 

“Well it isn’t like you’re much help to me or Robin, anyway, are you? Go on, we’ve got things covered. Ruby will be here in an hour anyway.”

Killian beamed and turned to Emma with a raised brow.

“Care for another drink, perhaps upstairs?” 

Emma simply grabbed her things and stood, any lingering guilt at distracting her from work vanishing at the prospect of being able to spend time alone with her. Killian chuckled and excitedly rushed back to the kitchen area to grab her jacket. 

The worn black leather looked entirely too sexy on her, further proving to Emma how screwed she was when it came to this woman. As if she needed reminding. 

She pulled on her coat, but before she could wrap her scarf around her neck, Killian grasped her hand and was pulling her towards the front door, turning back with a wide grin just before opening it, a stinging blast of cold air hitting them both. After the heated moment in the bar, it was almost pleasant. 

The entrance was luckily only about twenty feet away, just on the adjacent side of the building. Killian released her hand to grab the keys, and after making it past the first door, she took it again and practically ran up the stairs two at a time, dragging her behind the whole way up, both quiet but for their slightly labored breaths from exerting themselves. As soon as she unlocked the second apartment door at the top of the stairs and they entered her living area, suddenly the mood shifted from heart-pounding anticipation to slightly more nervous energy. Killian stood awkwardly to her right, shuffling a little on her feet.

“So… rum?” she asked, already making her way over to the kitchen area. “Uh, make yourself at home, love.” Emma made a soft sound of approval before taking in her surroundings.

The studio apartment was small, but just as warm and cozy as the bar downstairs, though lacking the same attention to décor. The furniture was simple and functional, just a futon and an old wooden trunk acting as a coffee table in the living area. A small wood-burning fireplace surrounded on either side by bookshelves sat in front, with a decently sized TV mounted on the wall above. But there were no photos or posters or artwork on the walls, just the slightly scratched grey-blue paint over the stucco. An unmade queen bed with a chipped wooden headboard sat in the corner of the room, and next to it a small bedside table with vintage desk lamp with a brass stand and a green glass top. The kitchen was small, just taking up half a wall, and a two-seater table separated it from the living area. 

Though it was clean, it was also clearly lived in, with Killian’s sweaters and jackets tossed about on various surfaces, her mail piling up on the coffee table, a few dishes sitting unwashed in the sink. 

More than anything, though, Emma noted the scent. The whole place smelled like Killian, magnified ten-fold. She breathed it in, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment, counting on Killian’s back staying turned to her as she poured the drinks.

She removed her coat again, lying it across the back of the futon along with her scarf before taking a seat, just in time for Killian to turn to her, two glasses held together by the strength of her fingers. She offered Emma a shy smile as she sat next to her, placing the drinks in front of them before brushing her hair behind her ear.

Emma let herself smile back when she noticed that the woman’s pointy ears were just the same as always. She’d always found them endearing, those elf-like tips.

“What?” Killian asked softly, taking a delicate sip from her glass.

“Nothing,” she replied, mimicking Killian’s action and drinking from her own. She couldn’t quite hide her smile behind the motion. Killian raised a brow, looking entirely unconvinced. “Just… you’re so different but also… kind of just how I remembered you.”

Killian stared at her for a few moments, her drink held loosely in her hand as it rested against her thigh. Her head tilted back against the futon and she tapped one of her nails against the glass, eyes locked with Emma’s.

“Aye, I feel the same way. You…” She paused, brow creasing for a moment. “Your smile is the same. Beautiful.”

Emma released a dreamy sigh, realizing seconds too late just how very audible it was. ( _Thanks, alcohol_.) Killian’s low chuckle made her cheeks burn, but the gentle way her lips curved upward didn’t appear at all teasing. Actually, she looked herself to have a permanent red tint to her skin – and she’d had far less to drink than Emma.

“So, I hope you don’t mind my asking…” Emma grabbed a coaster and placed her drink on the coffee table, freeing her up to fully turn to Killian, one arm lying across the back of the futon. “Uh, your brother… what he said before about hearing a lot about me…?” 

“Ah. Caught that, did you?” Killian placed her drink next to Emma’s and ran her hand through her hair, her brow furrowing a bit.

“Look, it’s fine if you don’t-“

“I missed you,” she said, nervously clenching her fist so hard the knuckles popped. She relaxed it afterward, stretching her fingers out and laying them awkwardly across her own knee. “I mean, back then. After we were split up. I missed you. So, when Liam found me and we were going through the process of signing him as my legal guardian, I asked him to help me find you… I asked him to find you, so that I could… that _he_ could…”

 _Adopt me,_ Emma finished in her head, a rush of emotion immediately threatening to create a well of tears in her eyes.

“But… even with just the two of us, we were already stretched too thin. College was free, but we both still had to work to make ends meet. When he told me it wouldn’t be possible for us to take anyone else in, I was frustrated and angry. I felt like I’d let you down. But he promised me we’d try to find you so that I might, I don‘t know, send you a letter maybe. Or call you. Or visit if you weren’t on the other side of the country. 

“We managed to get the name of one foster family, called, and then discovered you’d already been moved again. So we called the next one and it was the same. It didn’t matter who we talked to. Some of them didn’t even bother picking up or returning our calls. I left so many voicemails that I practically had a memorized script in my head.”

Emma’s arms went to her stomach, wrapping around herself to ease the churning, aching, _grateful_ feeling brought on by every new bit of information.

“You did all that… for me?” Killian nodded tersely and Emma released a shaky breath, almost an incredulous laugh, though she didn’t find it humorous. “I never even knew…”

“I’m sorry, love. By the time you’d aged out, we still didn’t have a clue where you were and… and then college happened and I got caught up and didn’t even think to-“

“No, don’t apologize for moving on with your life, Killian.” Emma scooted closer to her, pulling her hand in both of hers. “That you even tried to find me to begin with is... It means a lot.”

Killian gave her a small, watery smile, shaking her head once before leaning forward and pressing her forehead against Emma’s shoulder. Fingers twined together in the space between their legs on the futon and they both closed their eyes, a comfortable silence surrounding them. 

Emma sighed softly, the bridge of her nose bumping against Killian’s head. 

“Why are you here?” Killian asked, barely a whisper. She pulled back to peer at her face, and her volume increased as she went on. “Not that I’m not happy about it. I am. Just… why’d you come?”

Emma swallowed, her fingers tightening their grasp.

“I came to see you,” she said simply. The arch of Killian’s brow lifted, though her eyes remained serious. Emma struggled to find any words that would adequately convey her affections. She still had some infinitesimal uncertainty that Killian’s feelings matched her own. Unfortunately, that little fear was a _loud_ voice in her head, but she wanted so desperately to push past it. “Can I ask you something?”

After staring at her for a moment, gazing over her cheeks and lips and then back to her eyes, Killian offered a minuscule nod, leaning forward just a bit closer – whether consciously or unconsciously, Emma wasn’t sure. But she swayed towards Killian as well, feeling almost as if she were sixteen again, sitting on the front porch just after dusk, Killian’s face changing with the colors of the distant fireworks, some unnamable force drawing them together.

“If… if I’d asked you to run away with me, back then… would you have done it?”

“Yes."

The answer came quickly, with no hesitation and not even the tiniest hint of a lie behind the word.

“Yeah?” she whispered, the tip of her nose nudging against Killian’s. She tried to steady her breathing but it was a futile task. “Even though we’d have been… probably living on the streets? And stealing to get by?”

“Emma… I’d have done anything for you,” she breathed, and then in a flash, her lips were on Emma’s.

And her eyelids fluttered for barely a second before gently shutting.

Soft. Warm. So full and plush her lips were as they pressed against her own, so gentle as they moved, the tenderness bringing along a wave of emotions that Emma couldn’t describe without sounding like some wistful romantic. But maybe she was. Maybe all these years she’d been pining for Killian without even realizing it, hoping for a moment like this, an opportunity to rekindle a flame that had been snuffed out long before it could grow into the great fire that it was meant to.

In mere moments, she realized just how very much she _wasn’t_ sixteen again, though. They weren’t two young girls struggling too much with their identities and unfortunate situations to try to feel more than a naïve and innocent love. Teenaged Emma had only wanted this; a kiss – a _really_ good kiss – and her hand in Killian’s. 

Adult Emma wanted so much more.

Her free hand drifted up Killian’s arm as she parted her mouth, sighing into the kiss when she felt the tip of Killian’s tongue against the curve of her upper lip. Emma’s fingers gripped at her shoulder over the soft leather of her jacket, trembling with excited energy as she tilted her head and slid her own tongue into Killian’s mouth, smiling when she tasted rum.

They kept it slow, their motions languid and unhurried, but Emma’s insides hadn’t received the memo. Her rapid heart palpitations were nearly deafening and hammered through her chest, but she didn’t care if Killian heard; everything was so overwhelmingly good that all she wanted was to drag it out, extend this moment as long as she possibly could.

Her hand moved to the back of Killian’s head and she gripped her hair, tugging her head this way and that to deepen the kiss, pleased beyond belief that the actions weren’t met with any resistance. Their movements stuttered when Emma heard a soft moan escape Killian’s throat, and she pulled away, only far enough to catch her breath and gingerly press their foreheads together.

“Emma…” Her voice broke on the name, and it came out almost as a whimper.

They breathed heavily in the air between them, Emma’s fingers brushing absentmindedly through the loose strands of dark hair over Killian’s shoulder. She shivered when Killian drew her hand away from hers to rub circles over her thigh. It traveled upward, fingertips dipping underneath her sweater and smoothing over the bare skin of her abdomen. The muscles tensed beneath her touch, a shaky exhalation warming her moistened lips.

And then Killian captured her mouth again, coaxing her closer by sliding her palm around to her lower back and caressing the warm skin there. Emma lost herself in the kiss, moaning quietly and pressing closer to her, both arms winding around her neck.

The cold, hard plastic of her prosthetic prodded at Emma’s thigh, and she took the hint, rolling toward her and pushing her knees on either side of Killian’s hips, the futon cushion giving beneath their combined weight. Straddling Killian’s lap, she couldn’t control the rhythmic rolling of her hips, nor her wandering hands. It was like instinct took over, _need_ driving her to press tighter, closer, until there was no space between their bodies.

Their clothes felt like such a burden, too hot and heavy and constricting and, really, just obnoxiously in the way. Emma wanted them gone. She wanted to feel their heated skin melding together, to feel the contours of Killian’s entire body.

It was so much, and probably too fast – for all the daydreaming she’d done seeing herself and Killian in this exact scenario, she’d never _actually_ expected things to go this way. But it felt _so_ good. She didn’t have the willpower to say no to something she’d damn well wanted for over a decade.

“Wanted this for so long,” Killian whispered against her lips, drawing back to look into her eyes. She was breathing heavily, her breasts shifting against Emma’s on every inhale, every exhale. “Wanted _you_ for so…” She trailed off, her thumb brushing just under the wire of Emma’s bra, so delicate. “Emma, I want you.”

The admission couldn’t have possibly made her happier.

Her hands both went to Killian’s jaw, cradling her face, her thumbs stroking against the dimples in her cheeks. She leaned forward, eyes closed, skimming her nose along the side of Killian’s, murmuring a barely intelligible, “ _Please_ ,” before kissing her again, drawing in her bottom lip gently between her teeth, willingly relinquishing control when she felt a hand skimming up along her now overheated bare back beneath her oppressive sweater.

It was at Killian’s nonverbal but unmistakably clear behest that she lifted her arms and allowed the garment to be drawn over her head, immediately fusing their mouths again when it was tossed to the floor. Her fingers drifted to the buttons of Killian’s flannel shirt, popping them open in quick succession and moaning into their kiss when she cupped both heavy breasts roughly through the soft, lacy bra that she wished she could find the will to pull away to look down upon. She only did so when breathing through their noses failed to provide the proper oxygen necessary in such a hot and bothered state; it was a deep red, close to the color of the lips that Emma was pleased to have thoroughly ravished. She wondered if the stain had smeared across her own lips, trying to picture how it might look to have the evidence of their passionate lip lock marking her skin.

“Gods,” Killian laughed, a croaky, strangled sound that barely managed to escape through her heaving breaths. Her eyes wandered, taking in the view of the sheer black bra that Emma may or may not have intentionally worn on the very off chance that things progressed like… well, like _this_. Her pebbled nipples were visible through the material and Killian appeared nothing if not mesmerized by the sight. “Have I told you how bloody fucking gorgeous you are? Fuck, Emma…”

Emma would have responded, some remark about how very sexy the curses sounded when she was the one saying them, had Killian not immediately leaned forward to brush her lips and tongue across the swell of her breast, just above the thin line of her bra. Instead, all she could articulate were some noises that might have embarrassed her if they hadn’t so clearly spurred Killian on.

A strap was pulled over her shoulder, dragging the bra cup with it, and she arched her back and shuddered as one rosy nipple was engulfed in the wet heat of her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she muttered helplessly, her palms sliding up and over Killian’s shoulders and pushing beneath the fabric of her shirt, sliding it down as best she could, kneading newly exposed skin as she went along. She felt Killian’s hand fussing with her bra clasps for a moment, and then the fabric was gone, pulled quickly from her arms and thrown somewhere to later be found.

Her other nipple was given similar attentions, but Emma caught sight of the very edge of colorful ink peeking out from Killian’s shoulder and back and had a strong resurgence of the desire to discover what other tattoos there were on the canvas of her lightly freckled, tanned skin.

She gripped at Killian’s shirt and tugged it down hard along with her jacket, forcing the woman’s arms to release her. Their gazes met and Emma sunk her teeth into her own lower lip, completely wound up by the sight of blown pupils and the significantly red flush on those dimpled cheeks. 

“Off,” she demanded hoarsely, her hips undulating of their own accord. “I want to see you.”

Her response was a knowing, sultry smirk, but she complied, helping Emma to pull off her shirt and jacket and even popping her own bra open and flinging it to the arm of the futon. The second they were both naked from the waist up, Emma pulled their torsos flush together, her arms winding tightly around Killian’s shoulders.

There was definitely something to be said, something poetic, perhaps, about the sensation of having a velvety, warm, fleshy bosom molded to her own. It was intimate and satisfying in a way that the harder planes of a man’s chest never were. (Not that the feeling of a man was exactly _unpleasant_ , she recalled, just different. Less sensual, maybe? To this day, she wasn’t entirely sure where she fell on the spectrum of bisexuality which was something many of her readers could identify with, but right now she had _much_ more pressing concerns.)

She kissed Killian’s jawline slowly from her ear to her chin, grinning and taking immense pleasure in evoking those throaty, audible sighs, the breaths puffing hotly against her neck. All ten of her fingers deftly explored the tender expanse of Killian’s décolletage, skimming over a few dark, flat moles on her collarbone, then spreading down and outward, her hands coming between their bodies and gently massaging her breasts, thumbs skimming over the stiff peaks. Her hips shifted back and she pulled away, hands moving to roam over the images she could now easily make out.

Killian’s right arm was bare but for the heart on her forearm, but the nautical themed tattoos on her left continued all the way to her shoulder, the map backdrop fading into the depths of the ocean. There was a curvaceous mermaid, topless, dragging a sack of various items behind her in the water, a spyglass and water-clogged desk clock peeking out from the opening of her bag, and her fingers were brushing against an anchor entwined in rope resting on its side at the sandy bottom. She looked curious, as if she were wondering how to add this object to her hoard of human treasures. Fish swam freely about, but there was a silhouette of what appeared to be a shark not far away; a dark omen for the oblivious woman with the golden-red scales.

Emma’s fingertips traced over it, so lightly that she unintentionally tickled her, the muscles of her arm twitching beneath her delicate touch. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, gliding her hand downward. When she hit the edge of Killian’s leather brace, their gazes locked once more. This time there was a hint of discomfort creasing between those dark brows and Emma hated that the woman who gladly bared herself elsewhere seemed uncertain at the prospect of revealing that particular part. She’d never push her to do so but it was worrying all the same that she might think she’d be judged or thought differently of if she chose to do so. “If you’d rather leave it, it’s fine. But only if it’s what you want.”

“It isn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to look at, love. And I wouldn’t want you to… lose your… appetite.” The phrasing made Emma chuckle and she pressed a reassuring kiss to her lips. 

“I promise I won’t, Killian. I want every part of you.”

“Warts and all?” 

Emma pulled on the brace, tugging her arm up to kiss the golden compass that was partly hidden by the brace buckle.

“Every single part,” she repeated seriously. 

Killian worked the brace undone with quick, practiced motions, her right hand far more dexterous at performing the task alone than if both of Emma’s had done the same. Once it was gone, placed beside them on the futon rather than tossed about carelessly, she pulled the blunted wrist to her chest, stroking the silvery, puckered scars and lamenting silently for the pain and suffering that Killian had endured. 

The mood had shifted, all their movements slowing as they stared into each other’s eyes. It’s not that Emma had ‘lost her appetite,’ as Killian put it – she wasn’t even embarrassed over the fact that she could feel her panties soaked straight through already – but it felt like the passion was more tender; loving, almost. The desire simmered beneath their skin, visible layers of emotion pouring into every new caress.

But there was only so long they could calmly touch and explore before the need overwhelmed them once again.

“The bed’s bound to be more comfortable, love. If you want.”

She _did_ want.

They both twisted and fumbled to get up, drawing together for brief, messy kisses on the way to the bed in the corner, removing shoes and socks and jeans as they went. Emma was sure that one or both of them would end up tripping over the discarded articles of clothing later – if they ever made it out of bed, anyway, and she wasn’t entirely sure they would.

It was during this short trip that Emma got a glimpse of the ink on her back, a masterpiece of an eighteenth-century ship that spanned from the dimples on her lower back all the way up to her neck. It was gorgeous, the colors so vivid and shading so realistic that she wondered for all of two seconds if, were she to reach out and touch it, it would actually feel of damp wood and crisp, woven sails.

“She’s my dream ship,” Killian cheeked, turning back towards her for another kiss. “Perhaps if I’d been born in another time, another universe, she’d be mine.”

“Maybe you’d be a more successful pirate, too.”

Killian chuckled, hand and wrist sliding down Emma’s ribs and resting low against her hips. Her eyes were shimmering with amusement.

“Dunno, love. I’m actually quite good as it is at-“ She slid her fingers beneath the hem of Emma’s underwear, teasing lower and lower, grinning when her middle finger passed gently through her folds and over her clit, making her gasp aloud. “-finding buried treasure.”

Emma’s shoulders shook as she laughed into Killian’s neck.

“You’ll never stop with the pirate jokes, will you?”

“Why would I, when they clearly turn you on?”

She started to laugh again, slapping at Killian’s arm and immediately soothing over it with a squeeze of her fingers, but the sound was cut off, stuck in her throat, when she felt that same finger move through her slit once more. The motion was torturously slow and Emma canted her hips forward against the feeling, attaching her mouth to the base of Killian’s neck and laving over her pulsing artery. Both hands smoothed over the woman’s sides, gripping at her thick curves, tugging her closer.

“You’re wet,” she whispered huskily. Emma smiled against her collarbone.

“And you’re observant.” 

Her reward for that comment was Killian yanking her hand away and using it to swat playfully at her ass. 

“Are you _trying_ to break the mood?”

The huffy tone didn’t have quite the same impact when it was obvious she was fighting a smile, but Emma didn’t have time to respond anyway. Killian grabbed her by the waist, turned her, and then pushed her backwards so she landed with a small, “ _Oof,”_ sprawled across the bed, her lower legs dangling over the side.

There was a triumphant grin on Killian’s face as her hand worked its way up Emma’s thigh. Her thumb stroked ever closer to where she was hot and aching, teasing just beneath the hem of her panties. Then, slowly, and never taking her eyes off of Emma’s, she sunk to the floor, leaning forward and blowing softly over the soaked material. Emma’s hips jerked upward, causing a flash of smug satisfaction to cross over Killian’s features.

“No sassy remarks now, love?”

She huffed in reply and then swallowed when she felt the tip of Killian’s tongue prodding her folds overtop the ruined scrap of fabric that was barely covering her. It started feather light, just a tease here and there, enough to make Emma squirm impatiently. Then she began kissing, open-mouthed and rough, pressing her hand down against Emma’s hip to keep her still.

The sensations were almost overwhelming, and had Emma squeezing her eyes shut and helplessly clenching her fists in the sheets, writhing and pressing her heels against Killian’s upper back to draw her closer for _more_. Killian gladly gave it to her, a dirty groan rising from her throat and reverberating against her clit where that damned tongue was working fast circles.

She’d suspected that Killian would be good at this but it was still a shock to her system to actually _know_ the rhythm she kept, the strength of her lips and tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth that caused her thighs to quiver and her toes to curl. 

“Shit,” she gasped, when she felt fingers slip beneath the fabric.

“Lift your hips, Emma.”

She complied immediately with the huskily whispered demand and her panties were practically ripped away from her skin in seconds. There wasn’t even time for Emma to lose her sensual fever pitch, as Killian dove right back in, fingers spreading her open, tongue smearing moisture from her entrance up to her hooded bud. Emma propped herself on one elbow and used her other arm to reach out and run her fingers through Killian’s hair, biting her lip and growling as she took her higher and higher. It took a great deal of self-control not to grind against her face when she covered the area with her warm mouth and sucked hard, releasing her after several seconds with an erotic _pop_ that made Emma glad she was lying down – her knees would have gone weak and she’d have crumpled to the goddamn floor had she been standing.

Emma yanked back a little harshly on Killian’s hair, and held in a groan of pleasure at merely seeing the sheen of her arousal smeared across her lips and chin. Those half-hooded bedroom eyes stared back at her and her hips involuntarily swiveled at the sight.

“Want… Killian, I want to...”

“What do you want?”

Emma’s gaze lowered to her mouth and she licked at her lips. Killian seemed to understand her desire even without the words, and she smiled sinfully before wiping her mouth against Emma’s inner thigh, giving it a lingering kiss before she moved away, placing her knee between Emma’s on the bed and crawling up her body. She left a flurry of kisses in her wake; one on her hip, two on her abdomen – one with her tongue flicking into the dip of her navel – and a handful on her chest and neck.

Emma moaned shamelessly when their mouths met, sliding both her hands across Killian’s ribs, her nails digging into her flesh. She could taste her arousal on Killian’s tongue, could even smell her heady scent when she inhaled sharply through her nose. They pulled apart with a _smack_ and Emma massaged over her sides and back, all the way beneath the lacy red hipsters that matched the bra she’d been wearing – the one currently halfway across the room. When she eagerly gripped at the firm muscles of her ass, Killian’s hips did a dirty grind against her thigh, leaving an unmistakably wet trail of arousal in her wake.

“Gods, fuck, Emma,” she whimpered, repeating the motion, this time shifting her leg so Emma could do the same.

Beneath the haze of lust, Emma was mildly aware of how very desperate they must both appear, clinging to one another, sloppily making out as they humped each other’s legs relentlessly. It would probably have been humorous if it didn’t feel so unbelievably good, if she didn’t find Killian so completely irresistible.

She tilted sideways, dragging Killian down beside her, then rolled to hover above her. Her kisses traveled south, lingering over the swell of her breasts long enough to leave some pinkish marks behind. Killian’s hand ran through her hair as Emma pulled a reddened, stiff nipple into her mouth – _God_ did she relish the salty taste of her sweat on her tongue – her teeth scraping the fleshy mound just enough to earn a gasp of pleasure from the woman below her. 

The sound made her core _throb_.

Killian let her lead as she wanted, sighing and whimpering when Emma’s fingers traveled the length of her torso and hooked beneath her underwear. With a little adjusting, they managed to peel it away; Emma was pleased at how drenched they’d become.

“You,” she began breathlessly, tracing her fingertips through the slick, petal-like folds situated beneath a dark swathe of curls, “are _so_ beautiful, Killian.”

She chuckled lowly in response, but the effect wasn’t quite what she’d been going for – she was too breathless and keyed up. “Aye, well. I s’pose time has treated me well.”

“You were pretty back in high school, too,” she murmured distractedly, running her fingers along a pulsing vein next to Killian’s clit. She watched, transfixed on the image of Killian’s sex being touched and stroked and manipulated by her hand.

“ _Please_ ,” she argued weakly, breathing ragged and swirling her hips to meet Emma’s attentions. “I was scrawny and… _oh god..._ and my head was too big for my- my shoulders…”

“Shhh. You were pretty.” She tilted her head up and nearly moaned from just looking at Killian’s face, all twisted in pleasure. A crease between her brows, the sinewy lines of her neck all tensed up, her kiss-swollen lips agape. She was breathtaking. “You were my beautiful best friend, who I wanted to kiss _so badly_.”

“I’d hope that you’d want to kiss me _well_ , love. Not ‘badly,’” she quipped, smirking even though she looked on the verge of coming.

“You know what I meant.”

“Aye. I- _ah_ … I know what you meant. I… wanted that, too. Was gonna kiss you that night…”

Emma pulled her hand away, much to Killian’s distress if her frustrated huff was anything to go by, and tilted her head to press a gentle kiss to her lips. It lingered, completely contrasting in its chasteness to everything else they’d been doing with their bodies. She gazed into her midnight blue eyes when she pulled away, vaguely aware of the stinging behind her lids.

“I know.”

In a swift motion that took Emma completely off guard, Killian flipped them over once more. She lied solidly on her back and watched with piqued curiosity as Killian sat back on her haunches and physically maneuvered Emma’s hips sideways with her hand and wrist.

Killian straddled one of Emma’s legs and wrapped her arm around the other, holding it firmly to keep her spread wide. Emma felt her breath catch in her throat the moment she realized what kind of pleasures this new position would allow. Her abdomen tensed as she grasped for purchase against Killian’s thighs, her core clenching with anticipation.

She wished she could find words to describe the feeling, but all she could think was an incoherent jumble of _hot, good, fuck_. If the expressive quirk of Killian’s eyebrows were any indication, Emma could only assume she’d actually verbalized a few of those remarks.

Killian was not gentle.

Emma didn't want her to be.

Warm, swollen, sodden flesh meshed together in a frenzy of sensual gyrations and harsh bucks of their hips. Emma’s nails dug into Killian’s legs, then the sheets when she worried she’d break skin, then the wooden headboard when she needed leverage to push harder on each thrust. Her clit received hard strokes on every pass, sometimes against Killian’s own sensitive bud, more often against the solid mound over her pelvic bone.

She thought she might have heard Killian saying something, but she was so far gone in the haze of pleasure that she couldn’t hear anything over the blood pounding in her eardrums, and, admittedly, the slick, sensual noises of their converging flesh – a slew of sounds that she was hyper-focused on as her orgasm drew ever closer.

“Oh god, oh god, _oh god_ ,” she practically sobbed, the muscles in her forehead almost painfully tensed as her face contorted in gratification. She looked up, vision slightly blurred, to see Killian’s brows pinched together, the muscles of her jaw ticking as her teeth clenched on a sharp hiss.

“Emma, are you…”

“Yes. _Yes_. Fuck.”

“Good. Bloody fucking h-“

There was almost a simultaneous rush of liquid warmth pooling where they met, loud, guttural moans signaling their powerful releases. Emma’s hips strained against Killian’s, the muscles in her core quivering and contracting, her peak almost electric in its intensity. It faded gradually until finally every bone in her body fell heavy against the bed, her muscles spent. 

Killian collapsed half on top of her, breathing loud, harsh, ragged breaths against her neck. Emma wondered if Killian’s throat was as sore and dry as hers, all those strangled moans from before now feeling as if they’d shredded her vocal cords.

Several long moments passed as they caught their breath and their bodies cooled. They ignored the discomfort of the wetness coating their thighs and sensitive areas, ignored the way the dampness pooled underneath them and into the sheets. It was something to deal with later. For now, all they needed was to bask in post-coital bliss.

Emma brushed her hand over Killian’s sweaty forehead, swiping away some of the hair matted there and smiling dreamily when she lifted her head and met her gaze.

For a while, they were silent. Just soft caresses here and there, the occasional whisper of a kiss on lips and cheeks. But the longer they went without speaking, the more nervous the silence became, the more tense the air around them. Emma could admit to herself that she was hoping Killian would be the first to talk, and she didn’t have to wait long for her to come through.

“So… what now?” she whispered, uncertainty burning in her eyes. Emma opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. 

 _What now?_ She didn’t really know the answer to that. She hadn’t thought this far ahead, if she were honest. 

Killian shifted, propping herself on her elbow and gazing down at her. “Emma, I don’t… I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. And… well I’d like to think the fact that you came all this way to see me is a good sign that you feel the same… maybe?”

There was something almost humorous about her even having to ask that question, but Emma didn’t laugh. Killian’s expression was far too serious and hopeful, but there was a flicker of something else there that was so familiar – a look she’d seen often in the mirror; apprehension, perhaps even fear, that things were just _too good_ and therefore doomed to fail.

After all, they _had_ been separated before.

But this time things were different. No one was making their decisions for them. Any choices made were entirely in their hands.

Emma traced her fingertips across Killian’s cheek and jaw, cradling it in her palm and smiling when her eyes closed at the gentle touch. She opened them again when Emma began to speak.

“I honestly don’t know what happens from here, Killian. But I do know that you mean a lot to me.” Killian turned her head and pressed a kiss against her palm, both of them sighing in unison. “And… I think I might know where to start.”

“Oh?” she murmured against her fingers, pliant lips pressing feather-light kisses against each one. “How’s that, then?”

Emma waited until she opened her eyes, smiling and blinking a few times while she admired the gorgeous woman hovering just above her, the sole reason she’d come to Boston from New York on a spur-of-the-moment decision that she knew she would never, ever regret.

“Killian Jones, will you go out with me?”


End file.
